Devotion
by Chaotic Serenity
Summary: Why are the Suzaku seishi following Miaka so devotedly? A look at the movtivations and needs of each seishi. New excerpt up: Mitsukake.
1. Yanagi: The Willow

_Author's Notes:_ Hmm...I've seen people write these kinds of stories for both Seiryuu and Genbu, yet none for Suzaku. I would love to do this for Seiryuu, but since that one's been taken, I *sigh* have no choice but to do the Suzaku. This story is basically an attempt to answer the question: Why were the Suzaku following Miaka? First excerpt is Nuriko.

**Warnings:** Faintly adult themes. 

**Spoilers:** In this chapter, Nuriko's past and mildly episodes 32-33.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I own no part of Fushigi Yuugi, Nuriko, or any of the other characters.

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Devotion

_Yanagi: The Willow_   
  
At first, I hated her. I wanted nothing to do with this pathetic shrimp of a girl who posed such an enormous obstacle between Hotohori-sama and I.   
Then I came to tolerate her. After all, she showed more interest in Tamahome than Hotohori, so what did it matter to me? As long as I kept them together, everything would be all right. His Highness may have still been infatuated with her, but that, I had assured myself, would change.   
Then it came. The climax, the ultimate betrayal. When Miaka ended the falsity behind the Lady Kourin, so did the world I'd so perfectly built around me come crashing down, shattering to pieces. Suddenly, I was tripped of my proud, strong facade. I was nothing. Hollow. An over glorified shell with only the heart of a willow to fill my frame.   
But time wore on, and I survived. After all, it had been nothing more than a carefully constructed lie. A hopeless dream.   
It was...a long time before I was able to forgive Miaka. Even if it wasn't truly her fault. Those three months she left were probably most hellish I'd ever experienced, closely rivaling those terrible years after Kourin died.   
I didn't know who I was then. Was I still the Lady Kourin? Or was I just some frighteningly odd crossdresser clinging to a memory too long forgotten to offer any solace? Did I even deserve the title "Nuriko" brought me?   
The day she returned...it was as if the whole world just seemed brighter. As if Suzaku himself celebrated and glorified the day his priestess returned by dumping buckets of overwhelming warmth over the land, the sun's light shawling out from the palace and over the city. Suddenly, mannerisms of depression seemed so futile. Miaka had returned to us; she would deliver us. Tension prevalent due to Kutou's infringement seemed to simply slip away as time went on, and His Majesty finally...What I had tried and failed doing in three months, this little girl managed within five minutes of her arrival.   
He smiled. Hotohori-sama actually smiled. And somehow, though I'm not quite sure why yet, I found myself smiling too.   
I missed her.   
I love...   
There's something about her that draws people to her. Something that can't be bought or sold like some cheap confection. She is the priestess of the god of love for a reason, and she is our savior. I was always told that angels too many forms; I just never considered the shape of a lovable, giggling little girl with a foreign name.   
She creates this feeling in me that I can't explain. It makes me blush when our fingers touch or forces me to return her smile, even when I'm down. It strengthens me; it enlivens me. It's a feeling I can't explain, one that I'm not even sure I'm ready to face yet.   
Whatever the reason, there's no denying it: she awakens something in me I had thought long dead. It's as if she's gently removed Kourin from the picture without destroying the memory and helped the little boy named Ryuuen dormant within me rise to his feet once more.   
She's reincarnated me.   
I once questioned who I was, what my purpose was, and why I was alive. Now I know. I am alive because she needs me. I am alive because Suzaku bore me as his child to protect the daughter he loves best. The others are my star brothers, and she is our sister, our mother, our _beloved._   
I would die for her.   
I am loved; I am needed; I am accepted.   
And that's all I could ever ask for.   


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**Final Notes From the Author:**   
  
Nuriko is an extremely complex character in his own right, so views on him go every which a way. You may or may not agree with how I portrayed Nuriko, but I think I pulled it off fairly well. I'm not the biggest fan of Nuriko, but I can't deny that he is intriguing.   
The basic idea of Nuriko's excerpt was to chronicle the immense battle his fights during the show to discover who he is. First, he admits to destroying himself, becoming the illusion of Kourin. Later he accepts his change. Albeit, the acceptance is a bit hard. The plot thickens as his feelings for Miaka change. Finally, the story comes to a resolution when Nuriko realizes the depth of his devotion for Miaka. He would die for her; he loves her. And THAT is Nuriko's victory. 


	2. Cho: Stretching

Cho: Stretching _Author's Notes:_ Alright. *winces* This is my VERY first time ever writing Chiriko. As we all know, he is one of the least well-known character. Please, tell me if you think this is out of character. I'll rewrite it if that's the case. 

**Warnings:** References to death.

**Spoilers:** Chiriko's apperance.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I own no part of Fushigi Yuugi or the characters Chiriko.

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Devotion

_Cho: Stretching_   
  
Have you ever pondered how amazing it is how distant we are from the heavens yet how strong an impact they have on our lives? My life has been dictated by the movement of the stars, the interaction of the seven constellations of Suzaku. I listen patiently to their teachings, and they guide me in return. I was born beneath them, and I will die beneath them.   
That is the destiny of a warrior of Suzaku. To follow the stars, to listen to their songs in the depths of darkest night. To learn and pray and live and die in the crimson light of the god of love. To live together, to love each other. To support one another, to find strength where there is weakness.   
As solitary figures, we are nothing, but as a group, we are the pinnacle of achievement.   
I want to be at the top of that mountain of success.   
It is the duty of a warrior of Suzaku to serve his priestess. He protects her at all costs--even his life--no matter the situation or circumstances. He is there for her whenever she may call, and he loves her when she is in dire need of a comforting hand. Suzaku is our god, but she is his child, the mortal goddess in which we hold our faith, the light of sanguinity that holds us together as one.   
But I have failed the stars. I was not there when the other falsely took my name and interrupted the ceremony. Though I was aware of the dark portent of oncoming evil long before tragedy struck my fellow warriors, I hid myself away, allowing my fears of inadequacy overcome me. For hours I would bury myself in books, forcing my shame into the subconscious darkness of my mind.   
What would they think of me, a warrior of Suzaku no older than ten and three years? From circulating rumors, I had already known the ages of the older. They were adults, elders, my superiors and my damnation. Some were wise like the great Chichiri-san while others were noble and brave like Hotohori-sama. What could I, a simple boy, possibly do that would cause them to accept me as their peer?   
It's not as easy as it looks, you know. All my life, I have been bestowed a mind that allowed me to stretch but never reach. I am an adult in a child's boy. Though I surpass the comprehension and intelligence of many, to most I am nothing more than a child prodigy that can be used for exploitation and discovery. Children teased me incessantly when I was little. Who could blame them? It wasn't every day one of their young peers could speak three different languages and recite hours worth of a literature from memory. It's only human nature to shun what you cannot understand.   
...I never truly wanted to be a government official. I took the exams because that was what people expected from me. My mother would spend hours gossiping to her friends about what her child had suddenly discovered or solved. The attention could be nice at times, but it created an invisible barrier between my older brother and I--what could he possible do that would allow him to escape the shadows created by his younger brother's reputation? Or try my first tutor, though I loved the old man dearly, spent more time praising my intelligence rather than teaching me the hard-earned lessons of life that I needed. I would have preferred listening to him drone on for hours about things I didn't care for than listen to repetitious adulation about something I was already too aware.   
People don't understand what it's really like. While my mental abilities are vast, it still requires the knowledge the first be placed there. I am intelligent, but I am not experienced. How could they expect me not to be afraid when confronted with the need to see the rest of my friends.   
I am only a little boy, after all.   
I stayed behind because I could not bear to deal with the prejudice I would receive. I'm no fool; I knew I would (and still am) nothing more than a child prodigy to them. That was the second reason I took the government exams. The first part would give me a reason to delay my arrival, as selfish and unfair as that seems. I assumed that at least the emperor would understand the importance of the exams.   
...I failed them. Even in all my vast genius, I managed to fool myself into believing that some stupid test could be measured to the same worth as the lives of my star brothers. They suffered because of my fears, failed their mission because I allowed another to take my place. What would Suzaku think of me now if he knew his gift to me had been wasted in human fear?   
My late arrival had other negative effects as well. For one, the bond between seven warriors, whether one was a Seiryuu or not, had been formed, and the loss of that life had broken the chain too heavily to allow another into it. I was isolated by who I was, not one among them. I did not share the bond of having been found by the priestess. I had been forced to come to them in all my shame immediately after being betrayed by one they loved best.   
...It hurts. To know that you are alone even surrounded by those you are destined to bond with is painful, but I have no one to blame but myself. I have been foolish and ignorant; I refuse to be so any longer. I will make up for my sins, for the pain I caused. Even if they never look at me with the eyes of a fellow man, I will love them like a brother. They are the elders, and I am the lonely child.   
But they have forgiven me, and that's enough. It's all I really deserve after all. If they ever knew why I didn't come...I don't know if I could ever face the shame.   
I follow her because I failed her, and I won't do that again. But there is another reason to, one just for me and me alone. It's because even if I don't deserve it, I still want to be the seventh link in the chain that bind us. I want to be the final line to the perfect circle of us seven. Maybe, just maybe, someday long from now in the future, they'll look at me with the eyes of a brother warrior as well, and not just as a group of angry parents looking over their troublesome son.   
  


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**Final Notes From the Author:**   
  
Chiriko's a character I think many misunderstand. I mean, if you consider his ploy, it's very easily an unhappy and difficult one to deal with. Place yourself in his shoes. You're a thirteen year old boy, but you have the mind of an adult. Your instincts are that of a child, but your reason is that of an adult. It's a strange, painful paradox. We can only imagine how hard it was for him growing up, the effect it had on his family, and his life in general.   
This entry was written to reflect that paradox. The wording and way of speaking would be better attributed to an adult, but throughout the entirety of the work, there is an air of childish desires. To the point where even Chiriko sometimes into less eloquent wording. I hope you liked it. ^_^ Hotohori's is next for all who care. ^_^   
  
Ryuen: Why am I not surprised? ^_~ I Nuriko was the first one I finished that I thought came off as better than the rest, so by chance, he got his position first. I'm glad you liked that paragraph; it was a spur of the moment addition.   
  
lotus fy fairie: Wow...interesting author name. Must check stories soon. Thank you for your kinds words! And don't worry, Tasuki should come soon! Chichiri will be taking awhile, though, since I've never written him before.   
  
Roku-san: *hugs* Thank you. ^_^ Such kind words. I like that line too; it fits him. And yes, Nuriko always has his triumphs over pain and love, neh?   
  
Kaze-chan: You're comparing me to the great Aeanagwen? I'm honored. ^_^ Thank THANK you for your wonderful words! (And I have been reading your fic, too! I will review! I will!)   
  
Shnickers: Egh...same here. Good observation, poor analysis. This story is actually something I'm writing so I can get into the hang of going into the warrior's inner thoughts for the larger stories I'm planning. Thank you for considering this a well done analysis. ^_^   
  
Kitty Lynn: You pointed out an imporant fact I think many forget. Thank you for your kind words. You have excellent analytical skills yourself. ^_~ 


	3. Sei: The Star

_Author's Notes:_ Hmm...Hotohori. He's not quite so hard to write about, so I'm too intimidated by the idea of writing him. It's chichiri's section that's looming over my head right now. That's going to be quite a daunting task considering I've never written him before. ^_^ But we'll see.

**Warnings:** Mildly mature references.

**Spoilers:** Mild for first part of series and Suzaku Den.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I own no part of Fushigi Yuugi or any of its characters. (Heheh...I've been writing FY so frequently recently that I accidentally placed it as the series title in an MKR disclaimer I wrote. >_ 

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Devotion

_Sei: The Star_   
  
I knew her long before I met her. I saw in my dreams, created her in my mind's eye, molded her to the ultimate perfection. She was my world, my everything. It was the idea of seeing her someday that comforted me in my sorrowful moments, the vision of her that plagued my mind when it was idle.   
And I came to love her with all my heart and soul and being. I swore to make her mine. Of everything I'd lost because of who I was, I refused to lose her.   
But I did anyway.   
All my life I have been so little. A puff of air, a cloud of dust, a shadow in the light. I was the puppet and the palace advisors controlled the strings. My mouth formed to move the words, but it was their voices who dictated the land. I was a tool, and asset. I had command but no indentity. I was a piece, an insignifcant part of the puzzle.   
But with her...I wanted to be something to her. I wanted to be her love, her life, her everything. I would belong to her the same as she would belong to me.   
I've never actually owned myself before. My body, beautiful as it was, belonged to the throne that required an heir to continue the line. Not even my soul as my own, restricted as it was to the confines of Konan. Beloved as they are to me, my people are my prison; it is my duty to protect and serve them, not the other way around. In reality, it is the king who must be slave to the people in order for a country to stand strong. He must sacrifice his own soul so that they will rise together as one nation, proud and loving, splendid and glorious. We are owned by the very people that worship us.   
But my heart, the single piece of my being that I was allowed command over, I did not allow incarcerated. **That** I saved for her because for her I would do anything, so my dreams would come true. If I were to be a man enslaved, I would not mind if it was she who placed the shackles upon my feet.   
But she rejected it anyway.   
My mother fought an admirable battle to make me the primary heir to the throne. She suffered for that victory, for being given one chance to see the son she had struggled to raise rise above the rest. I wonder, sometimes, if the anguish we endured was worth it. She died for our cause, but I lived on to suffocate and drown in it.   
By Suzaku, I must sound so selfish. After all, was I not born with the silver platter of privilege already placed in my hands? How can I complain when life has given me such wealth, such power and ability? It was by the stars that I was destined to become what I am, but it because of the stars that I am bound to Miaka and country as well.   
Two choices, two halves of my soul torn in different direction. I once wondered if there was ever any release, if there was a end to this cycle of loneliness.   
I think, perchance, that I've found my answer.   
Red always has and will be my favorite color. It was the same tint that encircled and stained the glow of my symbol when it first appeared, it was the shade of crimson of Suzaku's feathers that surrounded and comforted in his fiery warmth, bringing me to peace with the grief that plagued my soul, and it the color of a nation that would bring my eternal dream closer to my heart. It was everywhere I turned. In the varicolored sunset of a summer day, in the flames of the shrine's holy fire as it crept into my soul and wrapped my heart in fire, encouraging my heart to live on.   
But things have changed, and Miaka has taught me to love many colors now. Blue and green and orange and hazel and violet...Colors that are the essence of my world, shades of the evening horizon that signal the setting of my own sun.   
The time for confession has come and gone. Now there is only time for resolution. For love borne in other colors. I will live on, I will survive.   
But I will never stop loving her.   
Never.   


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**Final Notes From the Author:**   
  
Hmmm...I'm not sure if anyone thinks this is in character or not. Hotohori's never been a favorite of mine. He tends to be emotionally weak when it comes to love, but at the same time, you can't help but admire his devotion to those around him. So, for someone like myself, it's hard to do. ^_^ Next up should be Mitsukake for those who like him. (I like him!)   
Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! Oh, and to Cadence, no, I didn't past off of anything. There's no novels that delve into it, so that was something of my own imagination. The basic idea I was trying to get across is that Suzaku's powers are both blessings and curses. In one way, it makes Chiriko a highly intelligent partner, but at the same time, it separates him from others, trapping him in a realm between childhood and adult hood. Understand now? 


	4. Oni: The Demon

_Author's Notes:_ Alright, here's Tamahome's excerpt. ^_^ I love Tama-chan, so it was fun writing his; I do hope you enjoy reading it. However, apparently quite a few of you weren't satisfied with Hotohori's excerpt. Hmm...I'll have to rectify that. Expect a rewriting of his entry very soon! (But please don't complain about Tamahome being cut and dry...he really just is that kind of character.)

**Warnings:** Mature themes.

**Spoilers:** Entire series.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I own no part of Fushigi Yuugi or any of its characters, especially Tamahome.

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Devotion

_Oni: The Demon_   
  
``It is impossible to love and to be wise. ''   
- Francis Bacon, Essays   
  
Little ghost is what they used to call me. Through the streets they would chant the cruel rhyme, taunting me as I would walk home, making fun of the one thing I could not control. Their parents rarely ever challenged their behavior, allowing me to suffer, looking on carelessly as each and every child murdered my sense of caring and dignity. After all, what wasn't to make fun of a little boy with a symbol on his forehead? _Oni_, demon, no less. 

I hated them. I dislike them now. People who spent their life reveling in the pain of others as they defile and destroy every piece of who they are simply because they are different. It doesn't matter who you are or why; it's just the fact that you don't conform to their mold.   
I was teased for my poverty, too. They would turn to me with leering grins, plucking at my ragged clothes and messing with my dirty hair, tearing holes where already sharp blades had torn through my soul. I think that's wear my obsession with money first began, where I first vowed to never be that poor little boy walking down the street again.   
If I ever had a family, I would make I wasn't my father. I wouldn't be the man who found love, then lost, and then allowed it to ruin him.   
But I am my father. In just so many ways. I fell in love despite telling myself I would not; I fell in love but with a woman I could never truly have.   
I hate her sometimes. How does she do it? Make me feel the way I feel? Is she some sort of witch casting her spells upon me, enchanting me in every way as she weaves me deeper into her web?   
There are two things my father told me watch out for in life, two things that I should hold close and take precious care of throughout my life.   
The first was money. Elusive as the fleeting tiger, it ran faster than water through a man's hands, leaving him behind a broken, impoverished individual. Money was a dangerous tool exploited by dangerous men; it had led to the ruin of many individual, both great and small, and I was no exception to the rule.   
So he taught me how to bargain, how to keep my eggs in more than one basket. Always have a backup, he would tell me, and never let a charismatic merchant haggle you into paying a penny more than what you had planned.   
I bided my time and finances well, waiting for the big sales to come through the city in order to buy the more expensive commodities my family required and becoming a cool, calculating individual when it came to the art of spending.   
But that was only one thing, and in the end, all that was gold eventually faded away anyhow.   
The second item my father forewarned me about was my heart. Now this, he told me, was far more precious than money, and though I could never hold it in my hand, it was far more difficult to tend and care for than coins ever were, as the god of love is an artful and crafty adversary.   
So I prepared myself. I hardened the edges I'd already roughed over a thousand times, becoming a cold, sometimes inconsiderate individual. I was the guy who would do _anything_ for that extra cent, who would sacrifice god and country for the sake of the gold glinting in the light of the evening.   
But I serve the god of love, and as such, I could never force myself to become the unfeeling individual I desired to be. And she saw that.   
And then she manipulated it.   
She is...amazing. I have never met anyone like her before. How does she do it? Make me feel weak in the knees whenever she comes near, even after I promised myself that I'd never let a woman take advantage of me?   
And she has taken advantage of me. In the worst way, too. She doesn't even realize it, the power she has over me. I would move entire mountains for her if it meant one last brush of sweet, rosebud lips against mine, I would sell my soul to the devil and his disciples if it meant giving hers one more day of freedom.   
Damn her. I hate her sometimes.   
But I love her too. It's just like the others said: I'm just a fool in love, following the girl I fell for through danger and joy all alike. I've lost my head, my fortune, and my family because of her, yet I still follow.   
Because she is who she is. Because I love her.   
My father once told me that nothing is for certain in this life. The winds change and people change with them. Seasons come and seasons go, and the heart forges it's own path no matter the mind of its owner.   
There are very few things I'm sure of anymore, but there is one I know. I love her, and I will protect her at all costs, no matter what the future may bring   
Because I'm a fool. And I'm in love.   
  


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**Final Notes From the Author:**   
  
I always adored Tamahome. He's not the favorite of many, but I do feel that he has quite a few darker aspects behind him than many of us think. I'd really like to try a hand at his past, if there wasn't already a novel about him out.   
This story was supposed to reflect the paradoxical aspects of love. While love "sets you free" it also imprisons you. It's a harsh, sometimes cruel reality whose worth can only be measured by the participants of the relationship.   
I'm not going to pretend that I know about love or what it means to be in love. After all, I'm only fifteen, but for those of us who do know love...please give me a heads up if you think I did all right. ^_^   
Oh, and yes, I'll be rewriting Hotohori's story by popular demand and displeasure--it is a little cut and dry.   
Thanks for reading. 

-Chao-chan


	5. Shin: Sadness

_Author's Notes:_ I figured it was about time that I got a hand done on my other stories. Seems people don't appreciate the Seiryuu seishi much. I could rant and rave on how obscenely predictable that is, but I'll just write a Suzaku fic instead. Mitsukake's addition to this series...done in a style I don't think many people would expect.

**Warnings:** Mild swearing.

**Spoilers:** Episode 15 and 27.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I own no part of Fushigi Yuugi or any of its characters.

* * *

Devotion

  
_Shin: Sadness_   
  
There was once a time in my life where I believed that all things were as I wanted them to be. That fate was not an object wrought by gods but by the mortal hands of men. I wanted my life to be one way, seeing only what I wanted, living and loving only as I desired.   
I know better now; the price I payed for my arrogance was harsh and will, in its baleful way, forever haunt me. But back then...I only knew of myself.   
My powers manifested themselves not long after my family's death, in a time when the flood had left thousands barely clinging to life.   
It had been too late for my own family; I myself had found their bloated, rotted corpses left over from the flood. Seeing your own family dead and scattered...I don't think any child should have to face that. No boy should ever have to watch the end come so quickly. Perhaps that's why I spoke to Tamahome so often after the incident with Suboshi--I knew what he was going through.   
But in death, there is life, same as illumination in utter darkness, and as I tearfully clutched the bodies of my fallen families, there shone in all its dazzling, fiery glowing the burning symbol of Suzaku's only healer.   
Lone, because there were still lessons I had to learn.   
The first person I ever healed was a young mother whose lungs had filled with fluids and, in time, had gained the coughing sickness because of it. Her child was much in the same condition, his features pale and drawn and reminiscent of death. I healed her first because I assumed I would be able to heal him; I healed her first because I thought the boy would rather die than live without a mother.   
Suzaku, you were cruel to have given me such reign over life.   
Sitting in the sand, pressing my hands over the boy's temple, praying to my god and savior for the powers he had granted to me, and wondering...wondering why the symbol wasn't showing up, why I couldn't save the little this little boy like I had his mother...is an image that will never leave me. Nor will her anguished cries finish echoing throughout my guilt-ridden mind. She cursed me that day...threw me down and slapped me, demanded to know what kind of demon I was to allow a mother watch her own child die. How could I possibly tell her that I hadn't known? That my family had died before I had a chance to heal them? I wouldn't have told her anyway; it would have done little to ease her grief.   
I decided to become a doctor from that day forward. Indeed, Suzaku had granted me the ability to heal, but he had done so in the cruelest of fashions. If I wanted to truly help people, I had to learn to heal them without the aid of immortal gifts. That way, I would not be forced to choose one man's life over the other, using my power as infrequently as possible, and only in the most desperate of situations. It was unfair for me to deign who would live and who would die, the same way Suzaku was unkind in giving me such power.   
Because every person who has died from my lacking has left an undying mark on my soul.   
Even with that knowledge, I don't think the woman by the river has ever forgiven me. Even to the day she passed on, suffering from the disease my own love would later die from.   
It was by chance that I met up with her again. Called to her village, I had treated her as best I could, trying to cool her fever and relieve her aches. She didn't recognize, grown as I was to a strong and brawny young man, but had she looked into my eyes, she would have known. I think she had burned the much-hated image of myself into her heart as much as I had hers.   
She had begged me to let her die.   
"Why," I had asked, "Why would you rather pass on than let me heal you?"   
"Because," she answered, "Sometimes it's only death that we can find hope."   
Her hand went limp, and then she took her last shuddering breaths. Before she went away, she uttered one named, "Miyuki..."   
Her son.   
Perhaps it was fate that brought me to her village to hear those words, to engrave them on my soul. It was, in fact, treating her that made me late in my return to my village...to my Shoka. To this day, I still wonder whether it was meant as a punishment or a lesson.   
For the next few years, I buried myself in my studies of medecine and healing. A family in a little town called Chouko took me in. They raised me alongside their daughter, who, as time passed on, proved to my light in the darkness of death.   
Shoka...It meant summer in our tongue. One could only help but revel in the sweetness of the sun when around her. And, indeed, she was the light of my world, my lone salvation in the lies I had unknowingly drowned myself in.   
Gods...she was my everything, my world, my light. I could not have the world, but I would have her, and that was enough for me.   
I knew so much darkness after she died. The illusions and falsities claimed me, burying me beneath their putrid layers. So many questions I asked of god, so many answers that were never give. Such much I had lost, so much I no longer wanted.   
I died the day she passed on.   
And I died again when I killed her.   
...I hated them. For taking away the darkness. At least in the night, I could not see the dawn; I couldn't see all the lies and hate I had buried myself in. There was no hint of selfishness, no anger for all of whom had suffered for my sins. Just pain. Misery. Pity. That was my life.   
But then...I had never really known what it meant to live at all.   
She taught me that. With her sparkling hazel eyes and cheerful smile. Life was not about molding the future to your own desires. There were other people in the world as well. Destiny cannot be ignored, nor can duty. Pain and sorrow will overwhelm us, but there is joy amongst the suffering. And if you don't believe in that...in hope...then you have no reason for living.   
Shoka's death was as much my salvation as her own.   
There is much to regret, much sin on my soul to cleanse yet. I died once and was reincarnated twice over, but I still have penance to pay. Like the old woman said, there is as much life as there is in death. Her son was her beacon of light; Shouka was once mine.   
And now Miaka is my pillar of hope. Because though there is a part of me that owes them my heart, there is another piece of me that can never forgive them; the same way the old woman and a few among my own never forgave me. The night is a terrifying and lonely place, but the dawn can burn you as well, and to bring a man who has spent much of his life in the darkness to light...These illusions are not so easily shed.   
Which is why I stand in the background. Quiet is something I've been prone to all my life, and the shadows are a place of oblivion. I cannot stand in the light beside them because I do not deserve.   
But I will stand among them, as a healer and a friend. Because in their eyes lies part of my salvation, and because if I can bring myself to forgive them someday, then maybe I can forgive myself. 

* * *

  
**Final Notes From the Author:**   
  
I realize that Hotohori's wasn't as great as it should've been, so I tried to make up for it with Mitsukake's. I hope you liked it.   
Mitsukake always fascinated me. He speaks little, tends to stay in the background, but when he does speak up, it's usually something important. (He can also be surprisingly witty.) He also...blames himself for alot of stuff that he really shouldn't. When somebody dies, it's his fault. He doesn't always say it, but you can see it in his eyes.   
I have a feeling Mitsukake carries alot of guilt with him. Not as much just for Shouka, but for everyone he hurt during his selfish self-exile. So I wrote this story in response. Hope you liked it! *hugs*   
  
-Chaotic Serenity 


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